The Coral Island - Robert Michael Ballantyne (little readers txt) 📗

to Penguin Island, freshened as evening drew on, to a stiff

breeze, and, before we had made half the distance to the small

island, it became a regular gale. Although it was not so directly

against us as to prevent our rowing in the course we wished to go,

yet it checked us very much; and although the force of the sea was

somewhat broken by the island, the waves soon began to rise, and to

roll their broken crests against our small craft, so that she began

to take in water, and we had much ado to keep ourselves afloat. At

last the wind and sea together became so violent that we found it

impossible to make the island, so Jack suddenly put the head of the

boat round and ordered Peterkin and me to hoist a corner of the

sail, intending to run back to Penguin Island.

 

“We shall at least have the shelter of the bushes,” he said, as the

boat flew before the wind, “and the penguins will keep us company.”

 

As Jack spoke, the wind suddenly shifted, and blew so much against

us that we were forced to hoist more of the sail in order to beat

up for the island, being by this change thrown much to leeward of

it. What made matters worse was, that the gale came in squalls, so

that we were more than once nearly upset.

 

“Stand by, both of you,” cried Jack, in a quick, earnest tone; “be

ready to dowse the sail. I very much fear we won’t make the island

after all.”

 

Peterkin and I were so much in the habit of trusting everything to

Jack that we had fallen into the way of not considering things,

especially such things as were under Jack’s care. We had,

therefore, never doubted for a moment that all was going well, so

that it was with no little anxiety that we heard him make the above

remark. However, we had no time for question or surmise, for, at

the moment he spoke, a heavy squall was bearing down upon us, and,

as we were then flying with our lee gunwale dipping occasionally

under the waves, it was evident that we should have to lower our

sail altogether. In a few seconds the squall struck the boat, but

Peterkin and I had the sail down in a moment, so that it did not

upset us; but, when it was past, we were more than half full of

water. This I soon baled out, while Peterkin again hoisted a

corner of the sail; but the evil which Jack had feared came upon

us. We found it quite impossible to make Penguin Island. The gale

carried us quickly past it towards the open sea, and the terrible

truth flashed upon us that we should be swept out and left to

perish miserably in a small boat in the midst of the wide ocean.

 

This idea was forced very strongly upon us because we saw nothing

in the direction whither the wind was blowing us save the raging

billows of the sea; and, indeed, we trembled as we gazed around us,

for we were now beyond the shelter of the islands, and it seemed as

though any of the huge billows, which curled over in masses of

foam, might swallow us up in a moment. The water, also, began to

wash in over our sides, and I had to keep constantly baling, for

Jack could not quit the helm nor Peterkin the sail for an instant,

without endangering our lives. In the midst of this distress Jack

uttered an exclamation of hope, and pointed towards a low island or

rock which lay directly ahead. It had been hitherto unobserved,

owing to the dark clouds that obscured the sky and the blinding

spray that seemed to fill the whole atmosphere.

 

As we neared this rock we observed that it was quite destitute of

trees and verdure, and so low that the sea broke completely over

it. In fact it was nothing more than the summit of one of the

coral formations, which rose only a few feet above the level of the

water, and was, in stormy weather, all but invisible. Over this

island the waves were breaking in the utmost fury, and our hearts

sank within us as we saw that there was not a spot where we could

thrust our little boat without its being dashed to pieces.

 

“Show a little bit more sail,” cried Jack, as we swept past the

weather side of the rock with fearful speed.

 

“Ay, ay,” answered Peterkin, hoisting about a foot more of our

sail.

 

Little though the addition was it caused the boat to lie over and

creak so loudly, as we cleft the foaming waves, that I expected to

be upset every instant; and I blamed Jack in my heart for his

rashness. But I did him injustice, for, although during two

seconds the water rushed in-board in a torrent, he succeeded in

steering us sharply round to the leeward side of the rock, where

the water was comparatively calm, and the force of the breeze

broken.

 

“Out your oars now, lads; that’s well done. Give way!” We obeyed

instantly. The oars splashed into the waves together. One good

hearty pull, and we were floating in a comparatively calm creek

that was so narrow as to be barely able to admit our boat. Here we

were in perfect safety, and, as we leaped on shore and fastened our

cable to the rocks, I thanked God in my heart for our deliverance

from so great danger. But, although I have said we were now in

safety, I suspect that few of my readers would have envied our

position. It is true we had no lack of food, but we were drenched

to the skin; the sea was foaming round us and the spray flying over

our heads, so that we were completely enveloped, as it were, in

water; the spot on which we had landed was not more than twelve

yards in diameter, and from this spot we could not move without the

risk of being swept away by the storm. At the upper end of the

creek was a small hollow or cave in the rock, which sheltered us

from the fury of the winds and waves; and as the rock extended in a

sort of ledge over our heads, it prevented the spray from falling

upon us.

 

“Why,” said Peterkin, beginning to feel cheery again, “it seems to

me that we have got into a mermaid’s cave, for there is nothing but

water all round us; and as for earth or sky, they are things of the

past.”

 

Peterkin’s idea was not inappropriate, for, what with the sea

roaring in white foam up to our very feet, and the spray flying in

white sheets continually over our heads, and the water dripping

heavily from the ledge above like a curtain in front of our cave,

it did seem to us very much more like being below than above water.

 

“Now, boys,” cried Jack, “bestir yourselves, and let’s make

ourselves comfortable. Toss out our provisions, Peterkin; and

here, Ralph, lend a hand to haul up the boat. Look sharp.”

 

“Ay, ay, captain,” we cried, as we hastened to obey, much cheered

by the hearty manner of our comrade.

 

Fortunately the cave, although not very deep, was quite dry, so

that we succeeded in making ourselves much more comfortable than

could have been expected. We landed our provisions, wrung the

water out of our garments, spread our sail below us for a carpet,

and, after having eaten a hearty meal, began to feel quite

cheerful. But as night drew on, our spirits sank again, for with

the daylight all evidence of our security vanished away. We could

no longer see the firm rock on which we lay, while we were stunned

with the violence of the tempest that raged around us. The night

grew pitchy dark, as it advanced, so that we could not see our

hands when we held them up before our eyes, and were obliged to

feel each other occasionally to make sure that we were safe, for

the storm at last became so terrible that it was difficult to make

our voices audible. A slight variation of the wind, as we

supposed, caused a few drops of spray ever and anon to blow into

our faces; and the eddy of the sea, in its mad boiling, washed up

into our little creek until it reached our feet and threatened to

tear away our boat. In order to prevent this latter calamity, we

hauled the boat farther up and held the cable in our hands.

Occasional flashes of lightning shone with a ghastly glare through

the watery curtains around us, and lent additional horror to the

scene. Yet we longed for those dismal flashes, for they were less

appalling than the thick blackness that succeeded them. Crashing

peals of thunder seemed to tear the skies in twain, and fell upon

our ears through the wild yelling of the hurricane as if it had

been but a gentle summer breeze; while the billows burst upon the

weather side of the island until we fancied that the solid rock was

giving way, and, in our agony, we clung to the bare ground,

expecting every moment to be whirled away and whelmed in the black

howling sea! Oh! it was a night of terrible anxiety, and no one

can conceive the feelings of intense gratitude and relief with

which we at last saw the dawn of day break through the vapory mists

around us.

 

For three days and three nights we remained on this rock, while the

storm continued to rage with unabated fury. On the morning of the

fourth day it suddenly ceased, and the wind fell altogether; but

the waves still ran so high that we did not dare to put off in our

boat. During the greater part of this period we scarcely slept

above a few minutes at a time, but on the third night we slept

soundly and awoke early on the fourth morning to find the sea very

much down, and the sun shining brightly again in the clear blue

sky.

 

It was with light hearts that we launched forth once more in our

little boat and steered away for our island home, which, we were

overjoyed to find, was quite visible on the horizon, for we had

feared that we had been blown out of sight of it altogether. As it

was a dead calm we had to row during the greater part of the day;

but towards the afternoon a fair breeze sprang up, which enabled us

to hoist our sail. We soon passed Penguin Island, and the other

island which we had failed to reach on the day the storm commenced;

but as we had still enough of provisions, and were anxious to get

home, we did not land, to the great disappointment of Peterkin, who

seemed to entertain quite an affection for the penguins.

 

Although the breeze was pretty fresh for several hours, we did not

reach the outer reef of our island till night-fall, and before we

had sailed more than a hundred yards into the lagoon, the wind died

away altogether, so that we had to take to our oars again. It was

late and the moon and stars were shining brightly when we arrived

opposite the bower and leaped upon the strand. So glad were we to

be safe back again on our beloved island, that we scarcely took

time to drag the boat a short way up the beach, and then ran up to

see that all was right at the bower. I must confess, however, that

my joy was mingled with a vague